Friends Incorporated
by PallaPlease
Summary: Post-Kobra; Terry/Max.  When Terry quit being the Bat, things only get worse - for Max.  [Working On]
1. Prologue

*~*~Friends Incorporated~*~*  
*Prologue*  
  
GENRE: A Batman Beyond fanfic.   
PAIRING IF ANY: Terry McGinnis/Max Gilbson.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Set after "Curse of the Kobra". I happen to be very Pro-Terry/Max and I don't like Dana much. (She seems too possessive and jealous. Sorry.) Anyway, I've noticed Dana hasn't been in a lot of the new episodes and Max has been getting a larger role (which finally resulted in the episode introducing Zeta [I'm convinced that was a prologue to "The Zeta Project"] and "The Curse of the Kobra" 2-parter.) with each new episode. Forgive me for the overall weirdness of this. *&.^*  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. Short enough for ya?  
SIDE NOTE: This will be written from Max's POV and I'm not sure if the entire fanfic should be - tell me and I might change it to third person [if and when I do that, I'll give ya'll ample warning]. I think the martial arts sensei's name was Kyri Inaga, buuuuuuuuuut…it probably isn't. ;} On another note, this fanfic isn't of excellent quality. (No, I don't have low self-esteem. I just practice reverse psychology with surprisingly good results. *giggles*)  
  
****  
  
I never should have meddled in Terry's life. I never should have blamed him for those murderous pranks ages ago, I never should have pried, and I should have never found out that he was Batman.  
  
God knows Kyri Inaga would still be alive today if that…thing…called Zander hadn't…  
  
I sit on the park bench, staring with unseeing eyes at the bustling city of Gotham. I suppose Bruce and I are the only ones who know Terry's secret. At least Bruce has a decent excuse.  
  
The wind is cold and embittered, twisting around my body, whipping my coat lapels about. My pink hair is shorn short, so the wind barely disturbs it in the least. I glance down at my brown hands, interlocked, fingernails bitten and short. It's strange how every time I look at my hands, I think of how I'm responsible for so many wrongs, even if it's an indirect responsibility.  
  
If I'm feeling this way, I can only imagine how Terry must feel.  
  
No.  
  
I can't imagine.  
  
I stand and stare off the bluff at the smog covered city I live in; the crime infested rat hole I call home.  
  
How do you change the past?  
  
~TBC~  



	2. One

*~*~Friends Incorporated~*~*  
*Chapter One*  
  
GENRE: A Batman Beyond fanfic.   
PAIRING IF ANY: Terry McGinnis/Max Gilbson.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Set after "Curse of the Kobra". I happen to be very Pro-Terry/Max and I don't like Dana much. (She seems too possessive and jealous. Sorry.) Anyway, I've noticed Dana hasn't been in a lot of the new episodes and Max has been getting a larger role (which finally resulted in the episode introducing Zeta [I'm convinced that was a prologue to "The Zeta Project"] and "The Curse of the Kobra" 2-parter.) with each new episode. Forgive me for the overall weirdness of this. *&.^*  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. Short enough for ya?  
SIDE NOTE: This will be written from Max's POV and I'm not sure if the entire fanfic should be - tell me and I might change it to third person [if and when I do that, I'll give ya'll ample warning]. I think the martial arts sensei's name was Kyri Inaga, buuuuuuuuuut…it probably isn't. ;} On another note, this fanfic isn't of excellent quality. (No, I don't have low self-esteem. I just practice reverse psychology with surprisingly good results. *giggles*)  
  
****  
  
I walk down the pathways; there aren't many teens out, it's getting close to curfew. The buildings are stony and unmoving, built up like a prison. I smile bitterly for a brief moment.  
  
"Hey, Max."  
  
I turn, smiling weakly at Terry as he walks up to me, hands buried in his pockets. There's a sort of walled off look in his eyes, like the one he gets when he thinks about his father.   
  
"Hey, Terry." I try to put some laughter in my voice, but it's hard.  
  
We walk side by side for a few silent minutes, loose papers fluttering past, brushed away by the chilly wind. These cold winds only serve as a painful reminder of Kyri's demise.  
  
"I've decided to quit," he breaks the silence, startling me. Quit? Being the Dark Knight has been his heart and soul for close to a year now. I suppose I would do the same thing in his shoes. The only thing I can do is comfort him.  
  
"Really." My reply is pathetic and limp, but he smiles nonetheless. It's a small comfort, but it's a comfort in any case.  
  
"What're you going to do now?" I ask after a moment and his blue eyes cloud over.  
  
"Haven't got a damn," he finally responds with a sigh. Quickly, before I can change my mind, I stop walking and hug him, the way a sister would hug her brother. Sorrow hits my heart like, to be cliché, a ton of bricks.  
  
He's tense, but he hugs me back and I feel salty tears drip down my cheeks. I can't tell if they're his or mine because we're both crying.  
  
We must have made quite a picture, crying soundlessly three minutes before curfew, brown and light skin.  
  
It feels good to cry your eyes out in the arms of your best friend.  
  
^  
  
I unlock the door to my apartment, the lights off except for one dim lamp in a corner beside a large, worn armchair. Pushing it open, I find the apartment empty, void of any sign of my parents. I sigh. Another business trip. God, you'd think they'd remember they have a teenaged daughter in high school, but all that information about who-knows-what must push away any knowledge of my existence.  
  
So what else is new?  
  
Kicking off my sandals, I wriggle my toes in the plush carpet, softly closing the heavy door behind my back. Leaning against it, I surrender my weight to it, sliding down to the floor, knees a few inches from my chest and my arms wrapped around them. Staring at nothing in particular has become a newfound habit of mine. Surprise, surprise, I'm excelling in it. I must be the Queen of it.  
  
A half-smile tugs at my lips, curling one corner up hesitantly at the absurd thought. A feeling of guilt washes over me and I groan, hitting the back of my head against the green door, closing my almond-shaped eyes, still slightly puffy and red from the bout of crying. I hate this constant feeling of guilt.   
  
"I feel like Lois Lane!" I laugh humorlessly. It's strange, being friends with Terry. Almost like Superman. I swear, every villain in Gotham must have some sort of radar that centers in my direction. It's gotten to the point where I wouldn't be surprised if a woman genetically spliced with a lemur jumped in my window, held me hostage, and ordered Batman to come save me. Jokers, Zeta - though that wasn't so bad, and Zander - that was - all after me. Maybe part of me is perversely happy that Terry's decided to retire from the superhero business. Less stress and anger in *my* life, that's for sure.  
  
But at his expense?  
  
He wants to quit. It's his choice.  
  
So why am I disappointed?  
  
^  
  
Thank goodness for Saturdays. I roll over on the couch - I apparently didn't make it to my bedroom - and stare blankly at the ceiling. I haven't woken up feeling happy in ages. I shake my head, dispelling the last traces of grogginess.   
  
I must be certifiable.  
  
Throwing my legs over the couch and sitting up, I stretch and yawn.   
  
I stand up and make my voice go lower, announcing, "And on another thrilling episode of 'Trials of Maxine Gilbson,' the ever lovely Max Gilbson must face a crucial point in her life - will she have cereal or pancakes for breakfast? Tune in later to find the answer, same Max-time, same Max-channel."  
  
Giggling at myself, I saunter into my kitchen, rubbing the sleepies out of my eyes and flinging open the cabinets. There are at least thirteen different brands of cereal inside and only one box of pancake mix.  
  
"Pancakes it is!"  
  
Whistling cheerily, I begin reading the instructions and blanch.  
  
"To hell with pancakes, on to cereal!" I cry, tossing the box of pancake mix over my shoulder and I rub the back of my head, ignoring the loud thud accompanying the box's rendezvous with the tiled floor. I'd get back to it later. As for right now, I need a massive sugar rush. Actually, it's more like I *want* it, not *need* it.   
  
After careful reflection, I grab a bag of coffee beans and turn the machine on, listening to the whirring sound with a satisfied smile.   
  
Nothing like the decades old Frosted Flakes cereal brand and good, weak decaf to brighten my Saturday. Add Saturday morning cartoons and life is perfect.   
  
My cell phone suddenly rings into life, vibrating visibly. Jumping a little, I set the milk jug back on the counter and snatch the phone up, turning it on.  
  
"Hello? This is Max Gilbson. Who's callin'?"  
  
"Hey, Max, it's me, Terry."  
  
Helloooooo, reality. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Infinitely Gloomy has checked in. My joyous mood evaporates swiftly, bringing me back down to cold, unwelcoming Earth. Rapture.  
  
"I was wondering if you'd meet me at The Custard Shoppe on Maple Third," he continues.  
  
"Sure, Ter. How urgent-o is this?"  
  
"Big time, Max." There goes that serious, nerve-wracking Bat-voice.  
  
I sigh and grip the phone tightly. Anything for a friend. "Be right there, bro."  
  
I barely hear his soft "Thanks" before he hangs up and I click the phone off.   
  
Looks like the ride's just begun.  
  
~TBC~ 


	3. Two

*~*~Friends Incorporated~*~*  
*Chapter Two*  
  
GENRE: A Batman Beyond fanfic.   
PAIRING IF ANY: Terry McGinnis/Max Gilbson.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Set after "Curse of the Kobra". I happen to be very Pro-Terry/Max and I don't like Dana much. (She seems too possessive and jealous. Sorry.) Anyway, I've noticed Dana hasn't been in a lot of the new episodes and Max has been getting a larger role (which finally resulted in the episode introducing Zeta [I'm convinced that was a prologue to "The Zeta Project"] and "The Curse of the Kobra" 2-parter.) with each new episode. Forgive me for the overall weirdness of this. *&.^*  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. Short enough for ya?  
SIDE NOTE: This will be written from Max's POV and I'm not sure if the entire fanfic should be - tell me and I might change it to third person [if and when I do that, I'll give ya'll ample warning]. I think the martial arts sensei's name was Kyri Inaga, buuuuuuuuuut…it probably isn't. ;} On another note, this fanfic isn't of excellent quality. (No, I don't have low self-esteem. I just practice reverse psychology with surprisingly good results. *giggles*)  
  
ADDITIONAL NOTES: Some of the scenes in this chapter and in later chapters (Terry's POV, Jokerz's leader's POV, etc.) will be written in third person so as to explain some stuff. That and I haven't written a first-person fic using present tense in ages. *-_-;* And to further explain the lack of Dana in this…well, there's been a (thankful) lack of Dana in the show. I can only assume she and Terry had a spat and/or she got 'fed up' with his constantly breaking short their dates. Another reason why I like Max. She covered for him countless times; both facts come into light through the duration of this fanfic as well as the trauma of his father's death. I was slightly peeved at how they blew the whole Dad died thing off after the first episode or so.  
  
****  
  
Fiddling with the straw of his ice cream soda, Terry McGinnis stared emptily out of the window at the cheerfully chattering passerby, a deeply engrained feeling of hollow nothingness pervading throughout his body. The Shoppe was relatively full of early morning customers, the majority were children. His own brother, Matt, had left with his mother to go to a toy shop.   
  
Glancing impatiently at the doorway, he was relieved to see the familiar hot pink hair of Max, her round brown face as seriously easygoing as it got. Half-heartedly waving his arm in the air, he managed to catch her attention.  
  
^  
  
The crowd is pressing today and I can only pray I won't be trampled by rabid shoppers. Never ceases to amaze me on how Terry managed to survive every mall trawl with Dana. Goodness know I wouldn't have.  
  
Finally, I see the sign, handpainted on wood and worn with age, declaring proudly, 'The Custard Shoppe - Serving Gotham's Children For Thirty-Five Years'. A smile flickers across my face. I can remember my father taking me here when I was five…if memory serves me right, they aren't lying on that sign.  
  
No wonder Terry chose this place.  
  
Cautiously edging my way through the crowd, I turn the smooth wooden handle of the door, pushing it open to find a brightly decorated room reminiscent of an old Victorian parlor from the previous millenium. There's a fragrant, grandmotherly feel in the atmosphere.  
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Terry sitting slouched at a booth. Bad posture. I have to remember to remind him about that…  
  
He waves half-heartedly at me, keeping his elbow on the table, slurping childishly at his ice cream soda.  
  
"What, you couldn't wait for me?" I tease and he shrugs, smirking and flicking a rolled up straw-wrapper at me. Being the agile, graceful woman I am, it catches me on the dead center of my forehead with lazy ease. Obviously his reflexes aren't suffering in any way. Sticking my tongue out, purposefully immature, I flick the paper wad back at him, missing by an inch or so.  
  
"Beautiful form displayed by the lovely Maxine Gertrude Gilbson as she once again displays her absolute inability to strike the shockingly handsome Terry Kin McGinnis. Perfectly stunning." His mock British accent is atrocious. Admittedly, so is mine.  
  
I stick my tongue out again, crossing my brown eyes rudely and poking his nose with my thumb. For an all too brief moment, we are able to enjoy happiness.  
  
But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end.  
  
His expression slowly changes from a mischievous grin to a chillingly somber straight face. Just being around him when he gets this way is enough to make a Joker cry.   
  
Terry opens his mouth, but clamps it shut tightly when a waitress skates over on old-fashioned roller-blades, her freckled face and orange hair suiting the casual attire in red coloring. "Good morning, ma'am, may I take your order?"  
  
I glance quickly at Terry, who has turned his face away, staring out the window again.  
  
"You took his order, right?" My voice is a sort of raspy husking sound and my light tone makes it sound blatantly unique.  
  
"Why, yes, ma'am."  
  
"I'll have whatever he ordered."  
  
"All right, then! That will be five credits!"  
  
I raise an eyebrow. "Only five?"  
  
She shrugs. "Why? You want a higher price?"  
  
"Oooooh, nooooo, it's perfectly fine!" I reply hastily, smiling nervously and shaking my hands in a 'no' gesture.  
  
"Cash or charge?"  
  
I feel in my pockets. "Cash."  
  
After paying the server and watching her skate away to get my order, I return my attention back to the quiet form of Terry. He's still staring out the window, eyes wandering aimlessly across the glass, intently gazing at our reflections. Without thinking, I lift a finger and draw a mustache across my face on the cold glass, wiping away condensation.   
  
He smiles lopsidedly.  
  
"Ter. You wanna talk about it?"  
  
He grips the table tightly with one hand, his knuckles turning white. I almost expect the wood to splinter and snap away, but he regains control.  
  
"Ter, what's wrong?"  
  
A lonely look of being torn flutters ever so briefly across his face; then hiding behind his always-present facial mask. Not even a single muscle in his face so much as twitches. I admire him for that isolated kind of control.  
  
"Everything," he grates out, running a hand through his pitch black hair, the white lights of the ceiling reflecting off it and making it look almost navy blue. Echoing in a lost voice, "Everything." He buries his face in his hands, elbows propped upon the table and his glass forgotten.  
  
I reach across the table and gently pry one hand away from his face, wrapping mine around it as sisterly as I can. "Ter, not everything is wrong."  
  
He covers his face with the free hand. "Yes, it is." His voice is muffled, but I can still hear the stubborn tone underlining the words.  
  
"No, it isn't. Don't argue with me," I continue, squeezing his hand. "Why do you think everything is wrong?"  
  
He is silent and the only sound I hear his slow breathing. "Kyri is dead," he whispered so softly I almost didn't catch it. "My dad is dead." Tears shimmer along his ice blue eyes. I want more than anything to brush them away. To cry with him. I can't, I'm the crying shoulder.  
  
"I can't even talk to Dana any more!"  
  
I hate this.  
  
I barely acknowledged the waitress' return and her placing my own soda at my spot.   
  
I lean across the table and pinch Terry's cheek.  
  
"Wake up, cumulus and weeds," I tease lightly, replacing sunshine with cumulus and roses with weeds. He looks up, stubbornly set jaw and all.   
  
"Why should I wake up?"  
  
I roll my eyes as if this is the easiest question he's ever presented to me. "Because you'll stay asleep. Then you'll never know how thing could've turned out."  
  
Sometimes, I need to stop being a hypocrite. I never follow what I say.  
  
"Who gives a damn?"  
  
"I do, Terry. Your mother does. Matt does. Hell, *Bruce* does. You can't give up just because someone out in the great beyond hates your guts. I'm not saying God hates you…just some really powerful nutcase or something."  
  
He grins weakly.  
  
I tap his nose with one finger, winking broadly. "And the Terry I know would never stand for knowing he pulled this kind of shit. So, what do you say? You gonna sit around moping on your flabby butt all day or are you going to be a rebellin' teen with morals, a protectin' senior with soul, and a kick ass hero of all younger than him?"  
  
He laughs, the first truly happy sound I've heard from him in weeks. "Do I have a choice?" he asks, eyes sparkling.  
  
"No, you do NOT. You are going with option 2 or I'll tell your mom about the time you forgot to put her bra in delicates."  
  
"How did you know?!"  
  
"I only baby-sat Matt every Tuesday the last five months. Now if our little heart-to-heart is through, I'm going to drink my soda. Detour me from it a moment longer and I stick my straw in your ear, which is not shuh-waaay, if you've noticed."  
  
With that, I loudly inhale through the straw and an immature burbling sound erupts.  
  
"Max, I didn't know you could do that."  
  
"I only learned from the best."  
  
"I'm flattered."  
  
"Not you, Matt."  
  
"Oh."  
  
^  
  
Bruce Wayne settled into his armchair, neatly arranged papers stacked on his finely crafted desk, in order and organized perfectly.  
  
Ace whined pitifully, placing his elongated canine head in Bruce's lap. Stroking the loyal guard dog's head absently, he sighed.  
  
Another protégé riddled with guilt and shame, determined to be normal. If only it was possible to be normal after being part of the Bat family.  
  
The quiet morning light streaming in brought back a memory a few months old of a laughing Terry and teasing Max…  
  
(( (( (( "Hey, Brucie, don't you know how to swim?" Max splashed some of the pool water at the elderly man and he glowered at her. Mock-cringing under his gaze, she teased, "Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the Bat-cave this morning." Diving back under water, her pink bodysuit visible through the water.  
  
Terry smirked as she came up for air. "What do ya mean, 'this morning'? He's *always* like this!"  
  
Max pondered that for a moment, treading water with her brown legs. "True, true," she admitted, quickly grabbing Terry's bare ankle and dragging him into the water with a loud splash.   
  
Bruce raised an eyebrow and Ace would have if he had any. "I still want to know why you feel free to let Max come into the Cave and onto my property," he spoke.  
  
Terry shook his head, dislodging water droplets while Max grasped the edge of the pool, heaving herself out of the water.  
  
"I get special privileges, being in on the Bat and all," she said airily and Terry rubbed his knuckles across the top of her head affectionately. She winced and slugged him playfully.  
  
"Yeah, you're a genuine Batgirl," Terry snickered.  
  
"Uh-UH," she replied, recoiling and showing him her palm in a 'stop' motion. "Bruce's Batgirl, *I'm* Robin."  
  
"And why am I Batgirl?" Bruce asked mildly.  
  
"Because *I* make green tights a fashion statement, unlike Peter Pan," she posed elegantly with sophistication.  
  
Terry pushed her back into the water. )) )) ))  
  
Scratching the fur between Ace's eyes, Bruce sighed softly.  
  
It felt like he'd lost another son…and a daughter.  
  
~TBC~  
  
QUICK AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry for these being so short! I promise, chapter three will be longer and the Jokerz make their move on Max. Also more focus on the Terry deciding to leave the Batman role behind and Bruce's feelings about losing both Terry and Max, 'son and daughter'. Yes, I *will* get around to writing Terry/Max. Just if you're wondering. And, yes, Barbara Gordon makes a few cameos, maybe an assisting role, throughout this fanfic and Dana will appear at least once in a future chapter. *sighs* Oi, my brain…  
  
  



	4. Three

*~*~Friends Incorporated~*~*  
*Chapter Three*  
  
GENRE: A Batman Beyond fanfic.   
PAIRING IF ANY: Terry McGinnis/Max Gilbson.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Set after "Curse of the Kobra". I happen to be very Pro-Terry/Max and I don't like Dana much. (She seems too possessive and jealous. Sorry.) Anyway, I've noticed Dana hasn't been in a lot of the new episodes and Max has been getting a larger role (which finally resulted in the episode introducing Zeta [I'm convinced that was a prologue to "The Zeta Project"] and "The Curse of the Kobra" 2-parter.) with each new episode. Forgive me for the overall weirdness of this. *&.^*  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. Short enough for ya?  
SIDE NOTE: This will be written from Max's POV and I'm not sure if the entire fanfic should be - tell me and I might change it to third person [if and when I do that, I'll give ya'll ample warning]. I think the martial arts sensei's name was Kyri Inaga, buuuuuuuuuut…it probably isn't. ;} On another note, this fanfic isn't of excellent quality. (No, I don't have low self-esteem. I just practice reverse psychology with surprisingly good results. *giggles*)  
  
ADDITIONAL NOTES: Some of the scenes in this chapter and in later chapters (Terry's POV, Jokerz's leader's POV, etc.) will be written in third person so as to explain some stuff. That and I haven't written a first-person fic using present tense in ages. *-_-;* And to further explain the lack of Dana in this…well, there's been a (thankful) lack of Dana in the show. I can only assume she and Terry had a spat and/or she got 'fed up' with his constantly breaking short their dates. Another reason why I like Max. She covered for him countless times; both facts come into light through the duration of this fanfic as well as the trauma of his father's death. I was slightly peeved at how they blew the whole Dad died thing off after the first episode or so.  
  
OMIGOSH! ANOTHER NOTE!: I have no CLUE what the Jokerz's nicknames are, soooo…I'm makin' 'em up! *grins*  
  
****  
  
"Why'd the chicken cross the road?"  
  
"Oh, GOD, Max…"  
  
I snicker and throw an arm around Terry's shoulders, buffing my fingernails against my brown jacket. "Have you heard the one about the c-"  
  
Before I can move away, he covers my mouth with the palm of his hand.  
  
"Max. I grovel for mercy," he tells me, eyes twinkling.   
  
I bite his hand.  
  
"OW!! DAMN, Max!" Terry clutches his hand and makes an 'ow' face, pressing his thumb against the bite marks. While he does this, I make a show of gagging and brushing at my mouth.   
  
"I think you've poisoned me!"  
  
"Hey, you're the one who had to go and BITE ME."  
  
"You put your hand on my mouth. Blech."  
  
He makes a rude face and I stick my tongue out again.   
  
We're walking slowly and leisurely down the sidewalk, ignoring any and all strange looks shot in our direction as we poke each other and exchange jokes our parents would be ashamed of.  
  
"So George says," I snicker, " 'We have to let Monica get on the boat first, she's a woman.' And Al goes, 'Screw Monica!' Then Bill says, 'Do we have enough time?' " Terry stares at me for a few seconds before a strange half-snorting sound escapes his nose and I stare at him in return. Within seconds, we're both laughing uncontrollably at each other.  
  
"That…" He gasps. "Was SICK, Max."  
  
I preen myself. "I know. Aren't you proud of me?"  
  
He opens his mouth to reply, then closes it slowly.   
  
"We're being followed," Terry says finally.  
  
Annoyed, I roll my eyes. "Duh, Ter, we're in a city."  
  
"No," he shakes his head impatiently, "not that kind of following."  
  
Confused, I turn to look…and a pocketknife slices my jaw.  
  
^  
  
The teenaged girl fell to the ground, clutching her jaw, blood welling up from a gash etched into her brown skin. Giggles laughed like a hyena, white paint coating her face gruesomely and a pocketknife in one hand. Kneeling beside the girl, she slugged her in the gut, causing her to double over, squeezing her eyes shut. Sadistically grinning, Giggles slashed her hip and chest; standing up and smiling darkly, prepared to drag her unconscious prisoner off.   
  
A fist slammed into the side of her face, sending her sprawling to the ground. "Hey, watch it, pretty-boy!" she snarled, flinging the knife at him; he easily avoided it by ducking.   
  
"Need help, Giggles?"   
  
She rolled her eyes, the pink flower in her black hair bobbing slightly. "Of course, Haunts. Bastard over there won't stay still."  
  
The Jokerz's leader turned slightly and barely avoided a fist launched to hit him in the face.   
  
"It's you!" both young men cried at the same time.  
  
Haunts pulled away slightly, but Terry bared his teeth, charging the Joker angrily and swinging wildly. Reacting with a vicious jab of his own, the white-faced clown tried to knock the wind out of Terry, not succeeding.  
  
From her sprawled position on the ground, red blood soaking her face and clothes, Max blearily saw the female Joker whip a syringe out of the bodice of her flamboyantly pink dress, silently creeping up behind the unaware Terry. Coughing up red plasma, she weakly called out, "…Terry…"  
  
He, blinded by incredible rage, was grappling with the obviously losing Joker and unable to hear her tremoring, tiny voice. "Terry, please…"  
  
Giggles smirked viciously, raising the syringe up as if it were a blade.  
  
Closing her eyes tightly and drawing in a deep breath, Max managed to scream, "TERRY!!"  
  
He was turning when the syringe was buried in his back up to the hilt. Eyes widening, he stumbled, the greenish fluid bubbling down the tube's length, injected into his body. His eyes rolled back in his head and he stumbled, falling to the ground, eerily still.  
  
Frantically, Max dragged her bleeding, bruised body over to his. 'Oh, God, please help…where are the frickin' people in this damned city when you need a damned witness?'  
  
As if reading her thoughts, Giggles giggled, living up to her name. Ripping the syringe out of Terry's limp back and pulling up the pocketknife from between the cracks, Giggles twirled both sharp objects like batons, the movements practiced and casual. "If you're wanting a witness, Haunts and I made sure that this was Joker territory…and we bribed all the residents just in case. The guys've been given instructions to maim or kill anyone who got in the way," she sniggered.  
  
Lifting himself off the ground, face paints smeared, Haunts sneered. "With Bats away, we decided to play with his little toy."  
  
A feeling of dread filled her lungs. It could have been blood, but she wasn't sure…  
  
Hooking her arms under Terry's midsection, she tried to pull him away.  
  
With a deadly smirk, Haunts walked closer to her and smashed his booted foot down on her exposed hand, an audible snapping sound heard.  
  
"Now, now. See, the fellas and I have an old score with the winged asshole. At first, we thought we'd kidnap pretty li'l Miss Dana Tan since he seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for her." Standing up, the Joker stretched lazily, grinding his boot on her already broken hand. Whimpering a small cry of white hot agony, she felt tears spring to her eyes. "I'm sorry, Terry," she whispered, voice raw from the pain.  
  
"But lately, we've noticed you've become the lucky lady!"  
  
She froze, biting her tongue to stifle a scream. "Stop it…"  
  
"Batsy's got a crushie-wushie on da widdle baby here," Giggles taunted, pointing the syringe needle and the blade of her knife at Max. Protectively, she held Terry to herself, glaring hostilely at the two.  
  
"Since life's not fun without ol' Bats, I thought capturing you would lure him back out. And, bingo, I'll bet we've hit jackpot!" Haunts crowed, his purple coat and green shirt symbolizing all the evil of the original Joker.  
  
"Damn you, you bastard," she growled and he leaned over, slapping her across her smooth, blood stained brown cheek. Her head lashed backwards and she feebly kicked at him, the substantial blood loss making her woozy. With his face close to hers, he leered.  
  
"Of course, there *are* a few fringe benefits."  
  
When he moved to cup her face, she snapped her teeth at him, almond-shaped eyes narrowed.  
  
Angrily, he hit the base of his palm against her temple. Limply, she collapsed, falling on top of Terry.  
  
"How cute," Giggles purred.  
  
He stooped over and lifted Max's deadweight.  
  
"Just kill him."  
  
With that, Haunts turned and vanished into the dark alleyways.  
  
Shrugging, Giggles pulled a blaster out of her spiked boot. "Too bad we couldn't keep her boy toy," she sighed, lifting the weapon and sighting through it, preparing to fire.  
  
"Yes, I know, Ace."  
  
Alarmed, she whirled around to see, of all people, Bruce Wayne.  
  
"Oh, shitload," she cursed quietly, nimbly leaping into the shadows of the alley. "I ain't killing no old man. Not right." Assuring herself that enough poison had been placed into the syringe to kill him anyway, she disappeared after Haunts and Max.  
  
^  
  
All I feel is pain. Oh, God, the pain…  
  
Blood drips from my chin, my breast, and my hip. I see it dotting the frozen earth below, mingling with the snowflakes.  
  
It's snowing. Red and white…my mind is foggy and delirious. Red and white make pink…  
  
[[ "Why pink?" Terry asked, propping his chin in one hand while Dana scowled at me. I ignored it.  
  
"I like my hair pink." ]]  
  
Red…and white…make…  
  
…pink…  
  
^  
  
"Terry!" Abandoning his cane, flinging it to one side, Bruce threw all caution to the wind and knelt beside the teenager, lifting his head up.  
  
His lips were beginning to curl up.  
  
"Joker poison…Ace, get Huric with the hoverlimo NOW!"  
  
Moaning softly, Terry's ice blue eyes fluttered open. "Max…?" His voice was slurred and Bruce had the horrible feeling the boy was delusional from the injection. "Get…away from Max…" His eyes began rolling back in his head and his mouth opened in a soundless, frenzied fit of uncontrolled laughter. It made Bruce want to retch. His protégé, his surrogate son, unconscious and yet unable to stop the insane, silent laughter.   
  
He'd mentioned Max…  
  
Scanning the general vicinity quickly, he saw a blood drenched scrap of yellow and black cloth, exactly like Max's favorite shirt.   
  
A slightly bloody syringe was discarded near it, along with a dripping red blade.  
  
"Damn it!" he swore vehemently.   
  
And it had happened in broad daylight.  
  
^  
  
I'm sorry, Terry.  
  
I'm sorry.  
  
~TBC~  
  
End AN: 0.o Well, there's the reason for the PG-13 label! Cursing and violence. No f-word. Never going to write the f-word. And if you're as smart as I bet you are, you can tell there might be mentions of r**e. *-_-;;* I hate writing dark stuff… I think I put some Terry/Max stuff! And Haunts gave ya some major plot points up there, so re-read it so you can be ready. ;} Gracias for reading! (Thank-you, Spanish class!) *&.^* Ja ne! 


	5. Four

*~*~Friends Incorporated~*~*  
*Chapter Four~  
  
GENRE: A Batman Beyond fanfic.   
PAIRING IF ANY: Terry McGinnis/Max Gilbson.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Set after "Curse of the Kobra". I happen to be very Pro-Terry/Max and I don't like Dana much. (She seems too possessive and jealous. Sorry.) Anyway, I've noticed Dana hasn't been in a lot of the new episodes and Max has been getting a larger role (which finally resulted in the episode introducing Zeta [I'm convinced that was a prologue to "The Zeta Project"] and "The Curse of the Kobra" 2-parter.) with each new episode. Forgive me for the overall weirdness of this. *&.^*  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. Short enough for ya?  
SIDE NOTE: This will be written from Max's POV and I'm not sure if the entire fanfic should be - tell me and I might change it to third person [if and when I do that, I'll give ya'll ample warning]. I think the martial arts sensei's name was Kyri Inaga, buuuuuuuuuut…it probably isn't. ;} On another note, this fanfic isn't of excellent quality. (No, I don't have low self-esteem. I just practice reverse psychology with surprisingly good results. *giggles*)  
  
ADDITIONAL NOTES v2.0: This fanfic is now going to be split evenly (or almost evenly) between third person and first person. Whenever it's first person, it's Max's POV. Remember, this is rated PG-13 for a reason.  
  
****  
  
The syringe pressed against the flesh of Terry's arm, the needle forming a tiny hole as it was thrust into the vein, injecting an antidote of sorts. The calm fluid smoothly flowed into his bloodstream, almost immediately calming the teenager. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and, once the crazed, silent laughter subsided, he began crying slowly. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," he chanted softly, weeping and clenching his fingers around the flimsy hospital covers.   
  
"You should be all right soon, kid," Commissioner Gordon told him from where she was carefully cleaning the syringe, "We managed to get you the antidote before the poison invaded your neural paths." She paused, face grimly set. "If we'd been only two minutes off, you'd be a dead kid."  
  
[["TERRY!!"]]  
  
"Maybe I'd have been better off that way," he said quietly, wiping tears off his cheeks with the back of his hand.  
  
Barbara sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, briefly resting a wrinkled hand on his shoulder.  
  
"There wasn't much you could do. You and Max were caught off guard and you let your emotions get the best of you."  
  
He tensed, knuckles turning white and the fabric of the sheet tearing slightly under the wrenching pressure.  
  
"You've been Batma-"  
  
He snapped. "I don't need some damned lecture about 'Batman' and how I could've saved Max if I'd been 'Batman' instead of slow, deprived Terence McGinnis. I get the frickin' picture, Commish," he snarled, closing his eyes tightly.  
  
Barbara smiled half-heartedly. "You know, you're a lot more like him than you want to admit," she spoke gently.  
  
Terry opened one ice blue eye. "What do you mean?" His voice was wary as well as weary.  
  
"Bruce can be the most stubborn, self-beating egotist in the world when he's worried about someone close to him. Can't count the times he almost got killed saving Nightwing or Robin. Or me." Her smile was absent.   
  
He snorted. "Really. Is this some kind of subverted plot to get me back in the lousy suit? 'Cause if it is, you really need to brush up on your 'subtle' tactics."  
  
Sighing in defeat, she stood up, feeling in her pocket. "Whatever you say, kid. Here. When I went with the crew to investigate Max's apartment for any clues, we found this." She tossed a framed picture at him. "Thought you might like it."  
  
As she left the room, closing the door soundlessly behind her, he glanced down at the picture. Max was holding him in a headlock, beaming energetically at the camera as he struggled.  
  
A lopsided smile formed on Terry's overcast face.  
  
Maybe it was worth it.  
  
^  
  
I open my eyes slowly and bury a scream behind a bit lip and a wince. My hand is bloody and I can see bone at a few intervals. Nausea rises in my throat. Funny. I've seen other people bleed and I've never felt like keeling over and expelling my stomach contents. I go to move my leg and I'm unable to stifle the scream resulting from the pain.  
  
I was wrong. Not funny.  
  
I can't see where I am. Everything's covered with nightfall, black, still, and utterly unnerving. A single shaft of moonlight breaks through a crack in the roof. By the smell of it, I'm somewhere where either a lot of animals make their home or Splicers have free reign. In all honesty, I'd prefer the first.  
  
"Where am I?" My voice is weak and trembling. Not to mention that's one of the downright stupidest questions I've ever asked a room that's completely empty aside from me.   
  
I amaze myself.  
  
I can feel the clotted blood clinging to my chin and hip. I can't tell if my chest has been 'scabbed' yet; the cloth is sticky and damp, plastered to my skin.  
  
Deep, burning pain echoes through my body each time I breath. I feel dizzy, almost like being dehydrated.  
  
Too much blood loss.  
  
Of course, dehydration could be part of it.  
  
Voices are beginning to become louder and nearer, I can hear them through the shambles of a door.  
  
"Is she awake yet?" Haunts. I grit my teeth angrily.  
  
"Dunno, boss." Unnamed lug; if I were to go by the depth of his voice, he's easily taller than normal. Joy. Rapture. I'm deliriously happy.  
  
Shit. No more feeling in my legs. That is NOT good.  
  
"Well, have you checked, you stupid idiot?"  
  
"Uhhh…no?"  
  
Good God. He's dumber than Terry, the lumbering ox.  
  
Terry…I blink back sudden, fierce tears. God, please, please, oh PLEASE let him be all right.  
  
The door is suddenly thrown open and bright neon lights blaze in my eyes.  
  
Well, damn.  
  
"Well, well, well. Sleeping Ugly finally awakes." What's-her-name smirks at me, pointing a large gun at me and pulling the trigger. I close my eyes instantly, awaiting impact.  
  
"Bang." I peek from under my eyelashes. There's a tiny red flag poking out of it with large white letters gaudily painted on it. 'BANG!'  
  
Haunts appears in the doorway, leering at me.  
  
Terry, where are you?  
  
~TBC~  
  
End AN: Yes, I know it was short. I'm rushing! I've got three other fics to work on…but don't worry, Terry/Max fans! I'll never abandon this baby. I must spread Terry/Max-ism. (Hey, I'm always for weird and/or unusual couples! Yeah!)   
  
And, yes, I'll eventually get around to a long chapter. Wait…next chapter'll be ten to eleven Word pages, 'kay? That's usually about twenty-four KB, which generally makes a nice read. *&.^* Thanks a million for reading (and reviewing if you do)! 


	6. Five

*~*~Friends Incorporated~*~*  
*Chapter Five*  
  
Author's Notes [v2.0] : Here is the promised long chapter! So sorry for taking so long to write it! I haven't given up on this baby (contrary to popular belief) and I am sincerely ashamed it took me this freakin' long to get it out. Anyway, I knew exactly where I wanted to take this - just didn't know how to get there. I'm convinced this is the first Terry/Max fic on ff.net, if not the 'net itself. Thusly, I'm proud. (And I had NO idea there were so many Terry/Max people on-line!) While I'm rambling…good mercy! 1000+ reads! *lol* And I honestly have no clue why the title's "Friends Incorporated"…I figure I'll work in some line with it later on. Also, I've stopped writing first person for Max - I dunno about you all, but it was confusing me like anything. 0.0; By the by, anybody else watch ZETA PROJECT? I love West and Lee as a couple! Silly, adorable, loveably incompetent West!  
  
WARNING! There are mentions of rape in this along with serious matters of the like. Being a 14-year old, I'm unwilling to describe it and thusly bump this fic up to NC-17. There IS a lot of abuse in this, along with blood, bruises, etc. And the Bat family reunites! (Bruce, Babs, Terry, and, yes, Ace. Geez, I love that dog…0.o) This chapter is R. Which means the entire fanfic has been bumped up to R. You have been warned.  
  
****  
  
Terry McGinnis ran a hand in front of his face, the fingers trembling weakly. A thick lump lodged itself cheerfully in his throat and he closed his eyes, exhaling softly. The grim, uninviting front of Wayne Manor glowered darkly down at his form; his slender frame and broad shoulders were suddenly insignificant as he stood before the supreme mansion, a chilly, bitter wind hollowly echoing about it. It looked like the kind of place where tragedies had occurred and eerily resembled a haunted mansion not unlike those he had read about as little child.  
  
{{Terry inhaled deeply, then straightened his posture and rolled his shoulders back, determined to not back down. Though, admittedly, running home like a spoiled, sobbing baby was pretty damn tempting…but Max was by the gate, sitting, hunched over and blankly playing with the gravel and dirt at the foot of the cement block; scooping up a handful of the mixture before letting it slip dismally between her brown fingers, her expression was one of a lost child, bewildered and distant. He owed it to her.  
  
Thumbing the doorbell irritatedly, his anxiety morphing into something akin to frustration, anger, and utter helplessness. "Damn it to hell, old man, why don't you ever answer the frickin' DOOR?" he muttered foully, tapping his foot before, growling slightly, he swiftly knelt and lifted part of the lawn--a patch of artificial grass--and scooped up an old-fashioned brass key, idly twirling it around his finger before using said device to unlock and open the door. "Hey, Wayne, you in here?"  
  
A grunt echoed in response and he shrugged, stepping inside just as Ace happily trotted out the door; the Doberman made his way over to the slouched, almost hidden form of Maxine "Max" Gilbson. A ghost of a lopsided smile twitched across Terry's face. "Go cheer her up for me, boy," he told the eager dog and, woofing an affirmative (smarter than your average canine, the teen thought in amusement), Ace exploded, limbs stretching out as he streaked across the frost-covered lawn, bowling a very, very startled Max over. Her shrieks of long unheard laughter broke the weighty silence as Ace's long, rough tongue slapped her face. He almost could've sworn he heard her yell something along the lines of, 'down! Down! DOWN! Down, damn it!,' but it was most likely a trick of hearing caused by the giggles and happy barks.   
  
Rolling his eyes at the exuberantly childish behavior of the supposedly vicious dog, Terry entered the house, closing the door quietly behind him. Following the path of the satin red carpeting, he approached his employer, unflinching, prepared to give up what he'd fought for the rights to. "I'm quitting."  
  
And with that, he tossed the pack he'd brought with him, containing the Bat-suit. Terry turned on his heel and left in a calm, unbroken pace.  
  
Max and Ace looked up at him, sharing confused expressions.  
  
He'd have to tell her sooner or later.   
  
Preferably later.}}  
  
Terry shook the memories off painfully. Max was strong; she would be fine…  
  
His finger depressed the doorbell.  
  
^  
  
Why couldn't Dana ever get into this kind of trouble?  
  
Max glared as hard as she could at Haunts, feeling weaker and weaker every minute. She didn't even care anymore whether or not she was resting in her own dried blood. Now it wasn't a matter of sickness, it was a matter of survival. Live, live to fight, live to find revenge, live to exist.  
  
"Get," she hissed, "away from me, you slobbering sonuva-"  
  
Haunts tossed his head back and laughed, shoulders shaking in dark mirth. "My, my," he grinned cruelly, "what language you use, my dear."  
  
Struggling to get up to her feet, one quivering hand pressed to the tear over her chest, she gave him a scowl that would have made Bruce proud. "I'm not your dear and I'll use whatever language I goddamn want to use!" she snarled.  
  
His eyes hardened and he lifted one white-gloved hand, snapping his fingers. The goons with him backed off silently, one handing him another fluid-filled needle as she retreated, the other closing the door behind them both. "Somebody needs to teach you a lesson in respect, you insolent little bitch," he spoke harshly, stomping across the acrid smelling floor to her. Thick, black chemicals swirled in a dizzying maelstrom in the clear glass needle, fascinating her perversely.  
  
With great effort, Max tore her gaze away from the liquid, opting to glare once more at the Joker, her pink hair matted to her skull by crusted, rusty blood.  
  
"Get away from me," she cried, "you asshole!"  
  
"You're in no position to be giving _me_ orders, little girl," he snapped coldly, grasping her shoulder and forcing her to a side, plunging the needle into her skin.  
  
She screamed, once, before a sudden, sweet delirium swept over her.  
  
"Do you like it?" hummed Haunts' voice. "We call it the Dream Toxin. It makes whatever is happening to you seem unimportant. Now, dream away, little girl. We're going to have some fun."  
  
"You," she slurred, the drugs taking quick hold over her, "aren't…my type…"  
  
"And that geek that tried to protect you is?" he was amused she noted vaguely.   
  
Max tried to resist, tried to fight off the drugs' effect.   
  
"Giggles killed him."  
  
Oh, she thought silently, no. No, Terry…Terry…  
  
"Now, you be quiet, like a good little girl."  
  
Lost in a tumultuous haze of tempting nothing and utter loss, she said nothing.  
  
And then the pain began.  
  
^  
  
The clock was ajar and Terry heard Commissioner Gordan's voice down in the echoing vastness that was the Batcave, followed by Bruce's rougher one.  
  
A whining sound caught his attention and he turned, seeing Ace - good old trusty Ace - wagging his tail happily at his feet. He barked, softly, and Terry grinned in spite of the gravity of the current situation. "I missed you, too, boy," he assured softly and Ace nuzzled his leg, panting joyously.  
  
"Hello?" came Barbara's faint voice. "Who's there?"  
  
Terry pulled out the photo she had handed him and burned the image into his mind. For Max, now. His father, Warren, would always leave a hole in his heart, but now…  
  
"Good-bye, Dad," he whispered to the air, prepared to enter the dark world of Batman once more, "I have to fight for Max, now."  
  
He pushed the clock aside and descended the steps, Ace trailing behind him.   
  
He wasn't alone anymore.  
  
^  
  
Faint sounds, rather like the ticking of a clock, strained desperately through the air, pushing angrily against her ears. Fierce, throbbing pain stabbed through her head, pulsed in time with some lost, forgotten rhythm. She slowly curled herself into a ball, shivering, keeping her eyes shut tightly, lips clamped together in thin white lines. She felt strange, eerily lightheaded, yet with a monstrous headache. And she was clean, dry, no longer bleeding. She didn't know why. She didn't care why.  
  
The ticking grew louder, angrier, forcing its way into her skull and smashing against the bones, echoing and ringing dangerously in her mind, mixing with the faces of her broken family, and images she distantly recalled. Before Max knew what she was doing, she was crying, tears sliding down her face and staining the dirty sheet tossed carelessly over her body. Kicking her legs out, she screamed, a horrible sound, hiccupping, gasping, crying uncontrollably. Pain tore through her abdomen and she pulled her legs back up, discarding all the shields, all the barriers that had made her strong. Made her independent. Made her what she was: sarcastic, intelligent, Terry McGinnis' best friend.  
  
It's all my fault, her mind screamed, and she started yelling things between her tears and her hiccups, words and hopeless sentences that she couldn't remember, that didn't mean anything. All my fault, she chanted mentally, snarling and cursing with her mouth, all my fault.   
  
All my fault. She curled up into a fetal position again, wrapping her bruised arms tightly around her knees.   
  
All my fault. They'd replaced the blood in her body…why? To torture her further?  
  
All my fault. She'd done something to deserve this, she knew it - why else would it have happened to her?  
  
All my fault. And then, suddenly, Max started giggling, dark eyes clenched into an odd shape.  
  
All my fault! Laughter spilled out: frenzied, hysterical laughter. It kept coming, pouring from between her bruised, gashed lips, dripping in a wave that tainted the ancient dusty room. And she didn't stop laughing, just kept it up until tears streamed freshly from her reddened eyes and she was gasping for desperate air between laughs, between tears.  
  
The door slammed open and Haunts stood there, dressed in his Joker-inspired purple suit, a horrid smirk, self-satisfied and smug, beaming down on her. Grabbing the incessant clock of the oddly painted dresser nailed to the wall beside Max's head, he dropped it carelessly to the floor, smashing it with his foot. Lifting his boot, he brought it down again on the clock, repeating the destructive motions again and again until the clock was scattered, gears and wheels spinning crazily along the hardwood floor.  
  
He bent down and grabbed her pink hair in his fist, dragging her up off the floor in an awkward position. "Hi, honey," he breathed in her face, the putrid sickly sweet scent of rot plugging her nostrils, "I'm home."  
  
And all she could do was laugh, with tears pouring down her face.  
  
/All./ /My./ /Fault./  
  
Slapping her across the face, again and again, until blood dripped slowly from a new cut formed on her cheekbone by the twisted metal ring he wore, Haunts chortled like a toddler with a new toy, tossing her back down. He pressed a boot firmly against her diaphragm and pushed down until she could no longer laugh, tortured wheezes escaping her throat. "Don't like that, do you, bitch?" he teased sweetly. Removing his boot from her chest, he let her have a few seconds to catch her breath, rich chocolate face glittering with tears, then delivered a swift kick to her ribcage. "How 'bout that?" Again. "Or that?"  
  
"Stop," she whimpered, voice so soft he could barely hear the dullest murmur. "Stop!" With sudden rage, she wrapped her hands around his ankle and jerked at it, throwing him off balance. Haunts landed, hard, on his back, and Max scrambled to her feet, staggering to the open door, skidding over pieces of the dead clock. "Stop!" she screamed again, mindlessly, running out into the corridor and stumbling along it, pushing herself to run farther, harder, than she ever had before. Pain lanced up through her leg and she forced it out of her mind, thrust forward by pure adrenaline. Skidding around a corner, she came to the door - the one that must lead outside, she thought with a mixture of hope and deeply rooted pain as she saw sunlight stream through cracks in it. Laying a hand on the chipped brass doorknob, she was beginning to turn it when she saw her hand.  
  
Bright flamboyant green thread, thick thread, had been used to sew the gashes together, forming a sickly smiling face, threaded choppily. With a stifled cry, she released the doorknob and staggered back, sinking to the floor numbly as she stared at her hand.   
  
A blow crushed against the back of her head and she pitched forward, smashing her forehead against the door. "You little whore!" Haunts snarled at her, grasping her torn shirt and slamming her into the door over and over and over. "I'll kill you!"  
  
Smiling grimly at him, more than a bit of the old Max returning, she gritted, "Make my day."  
  
She was swallowed by darkness again.  
  
^  
  
Bruce stared blankly at the enormous computer screens turned towards him, the computer console glowing as it always did. Why hadn't he done anything? If he had just told Terry how proud he was of him, given him a compliment…told Max that she was a fine young woman, like a young Barbara Gordon…if.  
  
If. He hated that word. There were too many 'if's in his life already. *If* he and his parents hadn't gone to see ZORRO, *if* he had never made Dick reject him, *if* he had saved Tim in time from the Joker and Harlequin, *if* he had told Barbara how he felt before she married, *if* *if* *if*! He clenched his jaw, ground his teeth together, sought to control his hopeless feelings. It isn't over yet, he thought darkly. Not now, not when there's still a chance that Max is alive, not when Terry can still help us find her.   
  
"Still as cozy and inviting as ever, hmm, Bruce?" the wry voice of Commissioner Barbara Gordon of the Gotham Police Force inquired, suitably grave, yet a bit lighthearted.   
  
"What are you referring to?" he replied dead-pan. "Me, or the Cave?"  
  
"Both, I suppose," she continued, hands loose in her pockets as she strolled across the cave floor, white hair curled tightly along her head. "Beating yourself over McGinnis and the girl?"  
  
"Why do you say that?" Bruce interjected abruptly, tone suddenly cold and more formal than it had been in years. The last time, she reflected, it had been that detached was when Dick left for Bludhaven, becoming Nightwing. "And what brings you here, Commissioner?"  
  
Barbara grimaced at the formal title and eyed the back of his head critically. "One, I know you better than most people alive," she retorted dryly, "and two, I'm here to help."  
  
"With what?" he evaded carefully.  
  
"With locating Maxine Gibson, of course," she smirked briefly. "Your computer is still the most advanced piece of technology this side of the globe. And, being the former Batgirl, I figure I have certain privileges that allow me the right to further examine materials and equipment you might happen to keep lying around here." She gave him her most dazzling smile, lighting up her aged face. "Can't keep that from an old friend, can you?"  
  
Bruce told her, straight, "You've always been obnoxious."  
  
Before Barbara could indignantly reply, they both heard the sound of Ace barking in greeting to someone whose silhouette was dimly cast upon the wall next to the stone stairs spiraling into the actual cave, the light from in front of the old clock spilling forward a bit. "Hello?" she called, instead of continuing her banter with Bruce; "Who's there?"  
  
Stepping into the Cave, followed by the figure of Ace, his tail wagging happily and tongue lolling in pleased acceptance, Terry McGinnis matched eyes with Barbara, who smiled a tiny, knowing smile, then locked eyes with Bruce.  
  
"Um," he started, mentally kicking himself. "I'm back."  
  
And then, to his surprise, Bruce smiled. "Welcome back."  
  
~TBC~  
  
End AN: Ohmigosh! I finally updated! *lol* This chapter wasn't as long as I'd been hoping to make it, but there's only about two chapters left, and then the epilogue and thank-you section (the thank-you section is gonna be LONG). *sniffles* My baby's growing up. Okay, I know this chapter was incredibly serious and dealt with very adult topics - that's the worst this story's going to get, although there might be some more abuse in the next chapter.   
  
Rape is not a light subject. I have no idea what it truly is like for a rape victim, so I apologize deeply to anyone that this might have offended. Please forgive me. Keep in mind that it is not the victim's fault that they have been sexually abused - it is the abuser's fault and wholly theirs. DO NOT REMAIN SILENT. Contact an official or a support group if you or someone you know has been sexually abused. (I thank God that I have never been violated in that way, and never will be.)   
  
God bless. 


End file.
